It drives me mad.
I know the importance of it, but damn, this is a misunderstanding. Not a violation of her trust.
“I never should have gotten involved with a student. What was I thinking?”
Another stab to my chest, the tip piercing my heart despite having whispered it more to herself than me. This is what she’s battling with most and raking herself over the coals for something that’s not her fault, at least not entirely.
I don’t give a damn about her table barrier when I round it, giving her no place to go but into my arms. She doesn’t fight me, letting me hold her as she cries, and it’s ripping my fucking guts out.
“I’m not just a student. What we have was real. Is real. That’s what you were thinking. That’s what we were both thinking.”
My arms tighten around her body as it sags against my chest. The scent of her perfume rises into my nostrils, bathing me in flashes of yesterday spent in my bed, laughing and loving. It pains me now, being so close one minute and so far another. I kiss the crown of her head. She stirs slightly but doesn’t step out of my arms.
“It was real,” she concedes, the words muffled against my shirt when her hands lightly touch my sides. Not quite a hug, but not pulling away. I’ll take anything I can get from her right now. “But that doesn’t mean it was right.”
A third stab at me, but I’m unwilling to give up this easily, not with her.
“It is right, Izzy. You can’t tell me what we had isn’t worth fighting for. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same. If you just give me a chance, I’ll prove you can trust me again. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll spend the rest of the semester making this up to you.”
She doesn’t answer right away, but her body stiffens. When she pulls back to look at me, I see the same longing and pain that’s been eating me alive since last night.
“The rest of the semester? Until you get your grade?”
Her hands fall away from my body, and she takes a few steps back, putting that fucking space between us again.
“No, fuck my grade. I don’t care about your class, Rossi. You know what I mean.”
I’m hanging on by a thread. Mentioning the end of the semester triggers her distrust, but it’s not related to my grades or passing to graduate. It’s about our freedom to go out, be seen, and do things without hiding or worrying.
“Let’s get to the end of the semester. We just have to hide until then. Afterward, when I graduate, and we’re a couple, it won’t matter who sees us. Please.”
I step closer, wanting her back in my arms, where I feel an ounce of hope that we can work through this.
“Don’t shut me out. Don’t throw away what we have. I know I messed up, but what we had was real. It’s worth fighting for, worth hiding until you’re ready. Until you decide when people should know.”
The tension is so heavy that I sound panicked, trying to salvage something I want, but she possibly doesn’t.
“I can’t do this.”
Her voice cracks. Her arms wrap around her in that fucking defense stance I hate.
“I can’t risk everything I’ve worked for. I can’t risk my job and career. This was a wake-up call.”
“Please don’t do this.”
My hands roll into fists, shaking with fear that this is truly over.
“Don’t push me away. It’s not risking your career if we stay a secret, but it is risking your heart. Is that what scares you? Izzy?”
The silence stretches between us, suffocating and dying. She dabs her eyes, runs a hand over her clothes, and straightens her shoulders. She’s transforming back into that cold, distant professor who keeps everyone at arm’s length. The version of her that’s untouchable, unreadable, impenetrable.
I lost the battle today.
As all good soldiers do, I retreat.
“I’ll go.”
I wave my proverbial white flag, surrendering to her for now.
